


The Way Things Are

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It, Future Fic, POV Phil Coulson, Season 2 feels, Secret Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, implied mention of a rape threat, not Grant Ward friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things will get a lot worse before they get better.</p><p>But when you throw sex in the mix "a lot worse" can take on a whole new meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Things Are

**Author's Note:**

> Title and section quotes by Fiona Apple.

**I wouldn't know what to do with another chance (if you gave it to me)**

The first time is right after he comes back from Geneva, in his office. 

They argue about his absences. 

She's been silent about them for a long time. But it's been a long week in a string of long weeks – they have been having them since Hartley's team got in the crossfire, ever since Simmons, ever since... ever since. He doesn't know how to come back from all that.

There are good days and bad days.

This is not one of the good days.

"And when you are here, you're not really here," Skye says. "Not for me anyway."

"What do you want me to do? Stop working?"

She narrows her eyes at him. That wasn't fair; Skye is just as dedicated to fighting HYDRA as he is. She is not demanding attention, it's something else. He knows what she wants: she wants him to talk to her. He's not. He doesn't know how to anymore. Too many secrets around the edges of every conversation.

"I hate it when you are here," she says, and Coulson isn't surprised. "But I hate it even more when you are not."

She doesn't tell him she misses him but she kisses him.

She draws him to her, grabbing the lapels of his suit, backing against one of the desks in his office. It's violent and desperate. He knows where they are heading and at full speed. There's no in between. They have either nothing or a deathly fall like this. Coulson knows he shouldn't do it. He is lying to her, he is pulling away from her. He is pulling away even as he moves into the kiss, even as his hands move up to her breast, kneading through the fabric of her shirt and bra.

And it's dangerous – the GH-325... but he is reckless, he helps Skye pull out of her jeans, out of her underwear, both of them moving with the dexterity of a clear purpose. Skye unbuttons him and unzips him, making him groan against her neck. He wants to go back to kissing, but things have progressed too far. He bites at the curve of her neck carefully because he might be a screw up but he can't hurt her.

"You can keep your fucking secrets, for now," she says as she slips her hand under the elastic band.

It's not a tender affair. All of Skye's frustration shows, in the way she holds him to her, the way her fingernails dig on his back when he moves into her. He has been avoiding her for months, he has been hiding from her, and this is just another way of doing exactly that. He hasn't been with anyone since before his death and the intimacy startles him, even this angry, misguided intimacy.

He doesn't last long. But Skye doesn't either, guiding his hand between their bodies and yes, Coulson can do that at least. He can do that for her.

"I don't know about you," she says when it's over, with a strange smirk. "But I needed that."

By the time Coulson looks up to ask her what she meant she's gone.

 

 

**how can I fight, when we're on the same side**

Days pass, a week passes. Two weeks.

They don't mention it. Coulson assumes whatever it was Skye is done with it.

He doesn't want her to be.

He doesn't know how to bring it up again, how to admit to himself and Skye that he wants it to happen again.

She seems resolved never to bring it up again.

Except that when they are alone in the archives and they hit a roadblock in their investigation, they are both beyond frustrated and Skye offers to go down to the Vault again.

"We could use some of his intel right now," she says.

A part of him thinks he could never watch that again, Skye going down to see that monster, listen to his words cling to her like slime. She wouldn't say, and she kept her face in check afterwards, but the experience has changed her. She's not the same. Coulson is not the same either. 

She can't do it again.

 _He_ can't do it again.

"That won't be necessary," he says. He doesn't say _yet_ but it's there, of course. She's going to have to do it again. He is going to have to ask her again.

"Getting cold feet now? You didn't hesitate in asking me the last time."

"Last time we were pressed for time."

Skye taps her fingers against the screen of her tablet, pointing at the overreaching HYDRA strongholds all over the map.

"I'd say we are pretty pressed right now."

"I said no."

He tries to sound authoritative but he feels like a fraud.

Skye gets that fire in her eyes he knows only too well, has been the recipient of it enough times.

"Why? Because we've... what? _Fucked_. You're getting antsy about it now because of that. Really?"

She is not just angry, she is revolted, he gets it. He should have never touched her.

"It's not that. But we still have some time, we can find the intel some other –"

"And in the meanwhile someone might get killed. No, Coulson. We were idiots to refuse him at the beginning. He was always going to get what he wanted – we might as well have had the intel before."

He had wanted to protect her from that, even though he knew she could stand it.

Skye holds his gaze, angrier now that he doesn't want her to see Ward than when he asked her to.

She takes his arm and pulls him behind some over-stacked shelves.

Then she starts undressing, taking off her pants.

"What are you doing?"

"Come on," she says, simply.

He follows her to the end of the aisle, where the light is a bit dim, moving his hands to her breasts. She makes him sit on the floor while she straddles his lap.

She kisses him roughly while her fingers work the buckle of his belt.

"It won't be a distraction," she promises him. "If that's what you are worried about, Director."

She doesn't need to undress him, just make this possible by freeing his cock. She sinks into him with a hitched gasp, closing her eyes for a moment before starting to move. Coulson wonders if she really wants this and why.

She presses her hand against his mouth, Coulson groaning, muted, against her palm.

"You've been so good at compartimentalizing," she goes on, touching the side of his head. "How could it be a distraction?"

He tries to say her name through her fingers.

"No, this is what I wanted," Skye tells him. "I wanted you to share stuff with me. Well, you are sharing this."

She rides him harder now, bumping her knee against the shelves.

He comes with her hand over his mouth.

"At least you're not pushing me away with this, uh? What a surprise."

"You shouldn't –" he starts, horrified.

"Come on, Coulson, I swear, if you even imply you're taking advantage of me..."

She kisses him. It's still rough and raw and Coulson doesn't know what to do with it, but it's a bit sweeter, a bit softer than in his office.

 

 

**so keep on calling me names, keep on, keep on**

He comes back from London, from Sydney, from Oslo. Wherever there's a HYDRA outpost there he is sniffing out possible allies, keeping a record of the enemies. Like a bad James Bond plot, international and lame.

"How's Simmons?" Skye asks from the threshold of his room.

"You know I can't tell you about it."

"I figured."

"Yet you were fishing for information?" he points out.

"I know you won't tell me what's going with her. Or anything, really."

"I can't."

She shrugs. "I'm alone in this. I'm always alone."

He goes to her. He can't offer the words she needs to hear, because he can't offer the truth. He puts his hand on her shoulder instead, squeezes. I hate to leave you alone, he mutters against her neck, brushing his lips against her hair.

"Don't do that," Skye says, pushing his hand away.

"What?"

"Don't be... nice. Kind."

"Why?"

She turns around, grabbing his shoulders.

She backs him against the bed.

It's messy. She undresses him and her hands never falter.

"I killed a man, you know," she says, drawing his scar with her fingernails. "A boy."

He nods. If he had any words of comfort he should have offered them weeks ago, when they would have mattered. He destroyed every good thing between them. If he has any kind words – you are not a killer, you save lives, you couldn't do anything else, I love you – Skye already said she didn't want them.

She moves over him in the darkness, mouth sliding against his neck. 

"How old were you...?" she asks.

He holds her head in his hands. He can't help being a bit kind. She's asking, after all, and now he knows he can't add another lie.

"I was younger than you," he replies.

Skye looks at him. Not that there's enough light in his room to really look at each other, but he can see her eyes perfectly. She moves again, rocking her hips. He wishes he could see her naked, he wishes he could see her.

When it's over he lies on his side, his back to Skye, still thinking on her words. And Skye can tell, she can always tell, after all. It's a miracle he manages to keep any secret, whatsoever, from her.

"Coulson, you were the kindest person I had ever met. And at some point this past winter that disappeared. I don't want to be reminded. That's why."

It's weird, because what she is saying is breaking his heart, but as she says it Skye is leaning into him to kiss the curve of his shoulder very gently. She is the one being kind here.

 

 

**you'll see I don't really have a choice**

The next time it's in her bunk in the plane. Coulson knows she sometimes sleeps inside, instead of in the base, a habit from all those months the plane sat useless, gathering dust. He guesses it's a way of putting more physical barriers between her and Ward. Coulson would feel guilty, if he thought he had the right. What he is doing to Skye is horrible, he knows this. He doesn't know what else he can do. This is what he signed up for.

He didn't sign up for this though: Skye grabbing him by the arm and dragging him inside the Bus.

He can't say he wants to stop it. Specially since he figures it's the only way he's ever going to be with Skye. He doesn't want it to stop. But he doesn't want the harm it must be doing to her either.

It's weird inside her bunk – he can almost believe they are back then, in the old times, before the Playground, before he became Director, before... so many things. When they were close, when they trusted each other. Coulson wants to say it was all innocent then, that he never wanted this. But it's hard to distinguish reality from wishful thinking when he has Skye pinned underneath his body, rolling her hips against him, urging him to push into her. Everything is blurred now, contaminated, in retrospect. He can't claim innocence (does he even want to?). Every little smile, every harmless moment of flirting he knew was there, it all leads here, to her bunk, to Coulson watching her chest raise and fall as she gasps.

"I think you might be clinically depressed," he says afterwards, his chest pressed against Skye's back. He wants to run his hands through her hair. He wants to, but he doesn't.

"And that's why I'm screwing the boss?" she snorts. "How convenient."

"No. You do this because you're angry at me."

" _Okay_. And what's your reason for doing this?" she asks and he doesn't answer. Same old. "Thought so."

She slips out of bed, reaching for her clothes.

 

 

**I wouldn't know what to say to a gentle voice**

She knows something is wrong with him. She has been pushing for an answer for months. Since the Obelisk.

In the end Coulson never stood a chance.

He tells her. Eventually.

"So Garrett didn't write these."

"No."

He tells her the whole story while they sit on his bed, not because he wants anything to happen (he can't imagine Skye coming near him again after he's told her), but he does need the privacy. He shows her the photographs he has been hiding from her, the ones which betray the author of those symbols. She touches them for a second, fingertips across the image of his arm carving into the wall.

"Do you even have a good excuse for lying to me?" she asks. It's not particularly cruel, just disappointed. He would prefer cruelty.

"I was afraid it would have been... detrimental."

"You thought I might go nuts from knowing about it."

"I have," he tells her. "I don't know what I would do if this started happening to you. Because –"

"Because you caused it," Skye finishes.

He doesn't have to nod. Skye drops her gaze, instinctively, to her stomach. The horrible thing that connects them. His fault, every step of the way. His decision.

"You have the same stuff inside you. There's some research, on the TAHITI subjects. They become aggressive, dangerous, specially..."

He can't go on. The lack of definitive evidence doesn't mean it's a good idea for two GH-325 patients to be this close. It's definitively not a good idea for them to be fucking one another. But there's no research on that.

"Lies are lies, Coulson," Skye says, eventually, once she finishes processing everything. Again her tone is not unkind. "It doesn't matter what a nice place they come from."

"I know."

"And you know how I feel about lies."

He nods, keeps his head down.

Whatever the punishment at her hands, he deserves it.

"You're really full of great decisions lately, aren't you," he hears Skye say.

He meets her eyes. There's some humor there. Gallows humor no doubt. But the world hasn't ended. And she hasn't walked away. His biggest fear, the one that keeps him awake at night; that she decides this life with him (with the team but yeah, _with him_ ) is not worth the pain and she packs up her things and leaves. It's an old fear – he remembers the sharp bite of doubt when he told her about her origins, Agent Avery's death – but one his recent behavior has turned into a very real possibility.

But it seems like she is going to stay.

And she is still talking to him.

And Coulson doesn't understand.

She looks at the photographs that show him in the middle of his little ritual.

"Does it hurt?" she asks.

"Yes, it does. It hurts so much."

She brushes her fingers across his cheek tenderly. He had forgotten about her tenderness. It shouldn't be wasted on him.

"I'm not going to tell you that you've screwed up but I know you know you've screwed up."

"Any guidance on atonement?" he asks.

She makes a chocking noise in the back of her throat. "You know I left Catholic school a long time ago."

He draws his hand over his face. He's tired. But for the first time in ages he doesn't feel hopeless about that exhaustion. Maybe because Skye is here with him. Everything is better when she is here – even when everything is worse everything is better. She has that effect.

"Do you want to...?" she asks, gesturing between them and to the bed. Like this is something they do, like there are some expectations here.

"I'd rather not," he says. "If you don't mind."

Skye nods and reaches her hand to his face again, stroking his cheek. Coulson lifts his own hand to trap hers, keep it there pressed against his skin. He closes his eyes to the warmth of her touch, the surprising mercy of it, given the circumstances.

She still doesn't leave.

 

 

**if you keep on killing**

She is tracing the shell of his ear with the tip of her tongue and she is driving him crazy.

They are in his office and he isn't sure how it started this time, or if they need any excuse for it to start at this point.

She sucks a kiss into his neck and her hands are already pulling his pants and boxers down. Coulson grabs her shirt, trying to pull it off her but Skye slaps his hands away. Instead she drops to her knees, wrapping one hand around his hip and the other around his cock, taking him in her mouth. He closes his eyes at the first jolt of contact, could cry at how long it's been since anyone has done this to him (no, he's not talking about a blow job), could beg and beg for Skye to swirl her tongue over the tip like that again.

She's pitiless, stealing all the air from his lungs and all solidity from his bones.

He wants to touch her but he is afraid of pushing her head, keeps his hands on his sides over the desk. A trace of sense nudges at him for a moment.

"Skye, the door... I haven't –"

She pulls off, looking up at him.

"That doesn't matter," she says.

"But–"

She stands up, pressing against him to give him a quick, dirty kiss where he can taste himself.

"Isn't that what you want? The danger of getting caught? Isn't that what turns you on?"

"No."

"Isn't that why you are doing this? Because – why would you want this?"

She asks like she really doesn't know the answer. Like there's no possible reason for him to want to be with her like this.

"Skye..."

He brushes his thumb along her cheek, caressing her tenderly, as if this was something else. Something proper and loving and gentle.

"I told you not to do that," she reminds him, but she doesn't sound like last time, she doesn't sound like a recrimination. Her voice is soft and pleading. 

Coulson nods, brushing off the hair from her eyes.

He knows what she needs; he twists his fingers into her hair and pulls down, bringing Skye to her knees again.

"You want this, huh?" she asks, her fingers around his cock again.

"Yes. I want that."

"Say it."

"I want this, I want your mouth. Please, Skye."

He wants so much more. He wants everything. And now he's ruined any future chance of it. Any chance with her. He does that. He ruins things. He should be used to it already. It shouldn't hurt like this.

Afterwards they press their backs to his desk, sitting on the floor. There is something almost companionable about it; they are messed up but somehow together in the mess they've made. They are shipwrecked but holding on to the same insufficient scrap of floating wood.

Skye rests her head on his shoulder.

"Let's just stay here for a bit," she says and her voice is different from before, more Skye-like.

The girl who fucks him, who lets him fuck her, the girl with her mouth around his cock minutes ago, she is not very Skye-like, he realizes. He realizes something else: he's in love with both.

 

 

**I'm much better off**

He thinks perhaps Skye is doing this because afterwards they talk, and maybe it's the only way to get him to speak honestly these days. Even keeping his promise not to lie or hide secrets from her he is not precisely communicative at the moment. It's not true, he knows she has more reasons, but he wonders if that's part of it, that after sex he feels like he owes her an explanation for everything. 

And afterwards it's also the only time when she can talk to him, really talk to him, knowing that he would listen. It's brief moments like this, when he is propped against the headboard and Skye is resting her head on his shoulder (she favors that spot), too tired to be angry, too tired for anything else, just the way she holds her hand over Coulson's chest, the way he lets him run his fingers along the curve of her naked shoulder.

"It gets worse every time," she says and he doesn't ask what she is talking about, because tonight it's one of those days when he has sent Skye to be willingly manipulated by the monster in the basement, the monster from the nightmares she won't tell him she has. "Every time I go down there... It's like a part of me never comes back."

Some days he wishes May had finished Ward when she had the chance.

But wishing that is only him trying to escape the blame.

"I don't want to ask. I wish I didn't have to."

"You are sending me to a cell with the man who kidnapped me. The man who did that to Fitz."

"I know. And I know what that makes me."

And he doesn't expect forgiveness. He knew this the first time he sent her there.

"But you need to win the war," she says. "And I get that."

"You shouldn't be my weapon."

"But I am."

Suddenly she sits up, grabbing Coulson by the wrists. She pulls him over the bed, until she has him pinned to the matress, straddling his waist.

"It's a bad, bad idea, having him here. I hate every decision you are making," she says. "I hate this."

"You hate this?" he asks, wrapping his arm around her upper thigh.

Skye bends down and kisses him roughly. They are better at communicating with this.

"No," Skye says. "I don't hate _this_."

Her kiss becomes slower, less harsh, until she is just gently sucking at his lip. And he believes her, for the first time.

Skye doesn't hate this.

She doesn't hate him.

 

 

**how can I fight beside you**

"We were outnumbered, outgunned. You sent us there."

They knew the risks. But that doesn't matter. Skye is right – _he_ sent them there.

"We could have died," she tells him. It's not exactly an accussation, but she's still freaked out. He lets her. It's the least he can do. She has a gaping hole on her shoulder because of his decision.

"I know."

" _I_ could have died."

" _I know that_."

He doesn't know who kisses whom first this time, and that is new. But after a moment of teeth and low groans Coulson finds himself on the floor of the infirmary with her, helping Skye out of her t-shirt and trying not to touch the wound. She hisses at the pain and Coulson swallows it, kissing her quick and anxiously until she settles against his arms.

"Cold, cold," she complains when he pulls off her jeans and underwear and she finds herself with her bare ass on the floor.

She laughs a bit at that, it knocks the air out of Coulson's lungs, that noise, her face when she laughs. He comes down, presses his lips against that laughter and Skye kissing back just as softly. He hesitates on pulling all his weight on her. "It's okay, just be careful," she tells him, her hand on the small of his back.

Moving slowly inside her his eyes never leave hers. Skye keeps the eye contact like a challenge – no, there's not just that, there's something softer than challenge here. They move together and his thrusts become less hurried, deeper than ever before. He laces his fingers with hers, pressing the back of her hand to the cold tile floor.

"I'm trying to do better," he tells her afterward, still inside her because neither has the will or energy to move just yet. Coulson can feel her whole body around him, the extent of her beatland, her heart so loud it's deafening, her heart so loud he can't hear himself think – which is probably a good thing.

"I know. I know you are."

"But I can't figure out how."

"Maybe I can help," she says, running her fingers through his hair.

He doesn't know what that means, but he's going to take it.

 

**I couldn't take the embrace of a real romance**

Things get better when Simmons finally comes back. 

Things get better, period.

He can't see it, though. He can only see his reflection. He can only see himself as tired and old and _wrong_.

He doesn't notice when Skye starts hanging around his office. Without a purpose, she just passes by and tells him things or, more often, she listens to Coulson talk about things.

Sometimes she comes by to watch her pack to go on another recruitment trip.

"Flying out again tonight?" she asks.

"It's neverending," he admits, voice ugly. He can be his ugly self when he is with Skye and he knows she wouldn't push him away for it. "May is coming, so at least I'll have someone to talk to. You okay to take care of the base?"

"Yeah, Billy and I got this."

He is trying to figure out if he is forgetting something, some important paper, his fake documents, cash.

"Okay, I see you are busy," Skye says, reaching his side. "I'll leave you to it."

She twists her fingers into his shirt and pulls him against her. Coulson is waiting for the usual form of attack, teeth and tongue and _now_. But it doesn't come. It's a fleeting moment of her closed mouth pressed against the corner of his mouth, sweetly and alarmingly new.

"Fly safe," she tells him. "See you when you get back."

And she walks away, turning around from under the door-frame to give him one last look, one last tiny smile.

This hasn't happened before.

 

 

**better by far**

He starts to miss her when they haven't had time to be together in a while.

He starts to feel like he is not completely real unless he's with her.

He knows he shouldn't – this is not that kind of relationship, it _can't be_. He has no right to hope it could ever be.

And he's been busy for a reason; this time he is not running away. He's trying not to, anyway.

And he needs help, he knows that now.

He comes back from Washington and it's so late that everyone is locked in their room, or so he thinks. The Playground is eerie at night, humming with electricity. He makes himself some dinner and sits down on the common room, sinking into the leather couch. He is too exhausted to eat, so he drinks a glass of water in silence.

Skye walks into the room, quietly, and sits on her knees by Coulson's side.

"You look tired," she says, caressing his temple.

He's startled by her tenderness.

"I am tired."

She takes his face in her hands and starts kissing it; she leaves a long kiss on his forehead, quick, soft kisses on his cheeks, a playful peck on the nose.

"That helps," he admits.

"Does this?" Skye asks, finally kissing his mouth.

She licks at his mouth and Coulson yields, the stress of the trip washing away under her hands and mouth. She puts her knee between his legs but she doesn't push things further, her arms falling around Coulson's shoulders. He doesn't have the energy to hold her back, barely has the energy to kiss back. He closes her eyes and lets Skye do whatever she wants.

It's not that he doesn't realize they are in a common area. It's not that he doesn't care exactly. Someone might come in any time now but Coulson admits the prospect doesn't frighten him like it used to (Skye was right, maybe there was a bit of thrill there), he prefers it. He's not sure he has any stake at respectability anymore. He has done far more hideous things than this, if the team ever catches him. And he's not sure what Skye is doing with him but he know what he is doing with her and there not a single ugly or dark feeling there. He's not proud of what he's done, but he's not ashamed of what he's felt.

With the little energy he has he slips one hand over Skye's back, running it up and down for comfort. Whose comfort? His? Skye's? He hopes both.

They don't fuck on the couch that night. They keep kissing for a long time until Coulson lets his head fall on her shoulder with a deep sigh and Skye just holds him for a while.

 

 

**so don't even ask me**

It's only when Ward escapes that May tells him what he said to Skye in Cybertek, the way he threatened her.

He wants to believe he would have never put her in a cell with him if he had known. But he is not sure if that's true.

When he comes to see her Skye has put a mattress on the holding cell inside the Bus, locking it when she goes to sleep.

For the first time since she started going down to that fucking vault Coulson apologizes. He apologizes for everything. He didn't know – and he apologizes for that as well.

"This is no excuse," he says. "I didn't have all the information. If I had – I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed so hard."

"What did you think I was going to do anyway? We needed the information. You pushed, and I resented you for a long time for that. But come on, Coulson, we needed the information. I would have gone to Ward anyway."

There's always that sharp edge of hatred when she says his name, but now there's fear too. Because now he's out there, the monster escaped, and they have no idea where he is and Skye must be thinking about one thing, and one thing only.

"You should have told me," he says. Skye snorts softly at that. Not in an ugly accusatory way, just disappointed. He guesses _should_ has no business here. He's done what he's done. But he still wants to know. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You face some tough decisions, every day. I didn't want them to be tougher."

"It doesn't matter. Those decisions? They were always going to be tough, they always are when it comes to you."

She gives him a lopsided smile – how can she even smile anymore, is the only thing he can think about. 

"Is that your subtle way of saying you love me?" she asks.

It punches the air out of his lungs. Because he does love her, but he never thought that mattered.

"I don't think I've earned the right to say it," he admits.

She kisses him, holding his jaw in her hand so that he throws back his head a bit and lets her explore his mouth. There have been kisses like this one, but not like this. Skye is afraid and yet he doesn't feel this is about fear.

"Can you move –?"

"Yeah."

He shifts on the matress, helping her out of her clothes. They are good at this, they are so much better at this than at talking. He loves her, and this is the only time when he feels the freedom to show her. 

He crawls with her on top of the mattress, pressing his chest against her heartbeat.

"Why are you not stoping this?" he asks.

"A little too late, uh?" she gestures towards the moment where their bodies meet.

"You should want to stop. How can you –?"

"But I don't," she says, and she sounds sure of it. "I don't want to stop."

He presses his thumb against the outline of her scars, as a reminder.

"Coulson..." she calls him, making him look up.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About Ward. About everything."

"I need you to make me feel safe tonight," she tells him. "I need you to make me feel good."

He nods, sliding his hand up the length of her leg.

Skye touches her fingers to the side of his head and he knows what she needs. He settles between her legs, flatteninghis mouth against her then pushing just the tip in. Skye gasps and then whines, reaching her hand to his hair.

"I won't pull," she says, so considerate, like Coulson cares at all.

"Well, you already have a balding lover," he jokes.

Skye gives him a look at the word – he's never said it out loud, and in his mind it sounded sweeter than what came out – but it's not a bad look. She doesn't hate him for using it.

Her hand threading his hair draws him down again. She's already wet and Coulson has his tongue lapping against the taste.

She wraps her legs around his back, pulling him in.

He eats her out carefully, slowly, moving to the rhythm of her breathing.

The sounds coming out of Skye's mouth sound suspiciously like sobs now and he hopes they are sobs of pleasure but something contracts in his chest at the possibility they are not. He kisses the inside of her thigh, hard, reverently, as he slides two fingers into her, feeling she needs the release. He can feel her fall apart around his fingers and those gasps are better than the sobs.

Afterwards she pulls him gently to her, kissing his face and giving his cock a couple of strokes until he comes, sweet and shallow. He gets that tonight is all about her and he is fine with that. He knows he can't make her feel safe, not really – he knows he is to blame, partially, for her fear and her nightmares. He settles for providing an illusion of safety, if Skye lets him.

They lie on the humble mattress for a while, until Skye turns on her side, touching her back against him.

"Thanks," she says, grabbing his hand and pressing it against her breast.

"Can I do anything else?" he asks, desperate to give her something more.

"Can you stay?"

They haven't slept together, not like this, not ever.

He kisses the back of her head. "Of course."

She settles against his chest, like a rehearsed gesture, easily, gracefully. Coulson can't remember the last time he had a woman in his arms like this, filling every crook, and breathing slowly against the side of his neck.

 

**as soon as I settle I'll be able to move on**

He's not sure they've been in a hotel room together. Not since – 

He's not sure what to expect. How to play it. But Skye seems to have abandoned any intention of staying in her room and is currently taking over his, her jacket draped over his chair as she types furiously at her laptop, cross-legged over the covers of his bed.

This is not a relationship, he keeps reminding himself. Skye wouldn't want one with him. _This is not a relationship_ even as she is ordering room service for the both of them, the menu more limited than he would have liked, and the rooms smaller and less luxurious than he would have liked, but Skye doesn't seem to mind.

She takes up all the space, but Coulson doesn't seem to mind.

"All these recruitment interviews," she comments. He agrees silently. They rolled into town at nine and haven't had a moment to themselves until now. "But these are good picks. Good job."

He has to chuckle at the patronizing tone. Who is the Director of SHIELD in this room?

"Thank you, Agent Skye. I'm glad my work is up to your standards."

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I know. That's why I brought you with me. I need your input."

Skye smiles warmly at those words.

Coulson goes to sit behind her. He puts his hands on her shoulder, at first just to squeeze them in solidarity, but it soon becomes a proper massage. He knows how to do this, is good at it actually; he just never thought he would be massaging Skye's shoulders like this.

"That's nice," she says, throwing her head back against his shoulder.

Yes, he wants to do nice things for her, even if they mean nothing.

"Is this one of your moves?" she asks.

"Moves? I don't have moves."

Skye snorts. "Yeah, right."

Then she turns around, cutting the massage short, grabbing his wrist and pushing him against the matress, pinning his arms down. She kisses him, putting all her weight on him. It's not a long kiss but it's more intense than Coulson would have expected given that they are both exhausted and cranky.

"I don't know why the farce of the two rooms," she tells him when she comes up for air.

"I didn't want to assume."

"Assume what? This?" she flattens the palm of her hand against his pants, feeling the length of his cock, already hard. "This happens every night since... I don't know. Do you remember the last time we didn't spend the night together?"

"I didn't want to –"

"To assume, yeah, you've said that. Just – it's been a long day and tomorrow will be longer. Okay? Just kiss me."

He does that.

Skye takes care of their clothes, undressing him almost imperceptibly, and there's something horribly familiar about it, the way she can maneuver him out of his shirt and his pants without a trace of hesitation. They've done this too many times. And it is _too many_. He should have stopped this a long time ago. But he likes the way Skye pulls his t-shirt over his head and draws the line of his scar with her thumb. He likes – he likes everything. Even the bad parts of this.

This is a good part. 

Skye helps him out of his clothes and then he's fucking her, fast and deep, like he needs to burn the little energy he has or he won't be able to do this at all. Skye doesn't seem to mind, she holds on to his neck and insists on kissing him through it all, sliding her mouth messy and hot against his. It's a short, sweet thing, and they both need to catch their breath afterwards. They are both smiling, too, when Coulson places his hand on Skye's hip and rolls her to one side, lying besides her and scooping her in his tired arms. Skye rolls against him again, prefering to rest her head over his chest.

"I hope we have time to have breakfast tomorrow," she comments. "I want french toast and eggs and pancakes and..."

She trails off, slipping down the bed, falling asleep against Coulson's stomach.

He smiles and runs his fingers through her hair for a while, feeling it soothe him. He stays like that until he retrieves his tablet from the bedside table, trying to get a bit of work done before turning in. The weight of a sleeping Skye on his lap while he works feels comforting, almost normal, almost something he would like to have for a long time.

 

 

**I bet I'll be**

"Why are you doing this?" he asks her.

"Because Simmons has better things to do than fixing your dumb head," she says, applying the surgical glue to the cut under his hairline.

He smiles a bit. "Thank you."

She seems pissed off. He doesn't know what to do with pissed off Skye. He was reckless and he probably deserved the blow to the head. He probably deserved the blow to his mouth too.

Skye holds his head in her hands, examining his scap in search of other cuts.

"I was really scared, you know," she says, almost bitterly.

He has been scared too. "I'm sorry about that."

"You could have died," she argues.

She's the one who doesn't like him behind a desk.

"I'm sorry, I was trying to–"

"I know what you were trying to do," she says, placing the palms of her hands on his knees. "You don't have to risk your life just because you think you deserve it."

"Deserve it?"

"You don't think I know what you are doing? What's you've been doing for months? Please, Coulson. It's me."

He covers her hands with his. He'd rather be kissing her or making love to her than explaining himself. Which he guesses is why he should. He owes it to Skye to try the things he's not good at.

"I once asked you if you had any ideas about atonement. Mine are what they are."

She sighs, pressing her fingers against the outline of his wound. He winces but the touch is tender.

"You are not that person anymore," Skye says. "Not the ruthless, overexhausted Director of SHIELD who was never here. Neither the man who lied to me for months. You haven't been that person in a long, long time. You need to stop punishing yourself."

He touches her wrist, pushing her hand away.

"I shouldn't."

"You should. And I'd like that. I'd like if you could be happy."

He narrows his eyes at her.

"Why?"

Skye seems taken aback by the question. He doesn't think it unfair. Why would Skye, of all people, want him to be happy?

"Wow. I think you might be the dumbest director SHIELD has ever had."

"Skye, no. Don't do that. I know what you are going to say. You don't have to–"

She kisses him. He moans into her mouth and it's half in pain from his split lip but Skye doesn't stop and he doesn't want her to.

"We've had a hard year. A strange year. We messed up a lot, things between us. And I know you think you haven't earned the right to say it, but I have. I _love you_."

"You astound me."

"I am an astounding person."

"Yes, you are."

"There it is. That smile. Haven't seen as much of it as I'd have liked."

He kisses her. The lip bothers him a bit less this time. And it's not like that can stop him. It's not like anything can stop him anymore. Not after what Skye has told him.

"I haven't earned the right to say it but you know how I feel," he tells her.

"I've always known, I'm not an idiot. I've known since the first time."

"The first time?"

"I was angry _and_ I loved you. Apparently I can do both. Like now."

She punishing with a proding finger to the cut on his scap.

"Ouch."

"Sorry." She holds his face between her hands and makes him lower his head. She kisses the wounded area. "Better?"

Coulson lifts his head.

He looks directly into Skye's eyes. They are smiling before she does.

"Yes," he tells her. "Everything is better now."


End file.
